


Trouble in Paradise

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2017 [53]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 00:24:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11391513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the fic_promptly prompt: "Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Stargate Atlantis, Buffy Summers /& Ronon Dex, he was bored of being cooped up in the SGC and she was just looking for a little pre-slayage fun, both got more than they had hoped for."Ronon finds trouble in a peaceful stone garden.





	Trouble in Paradise

Ronon knew he’d won a certain decisive victory when General Landry relented and said,  _Fine, you can go. Don’t start any trouble._  
  
Ronon had caused an awful lot of trouble around the halls of the SGC in his boredom, and in order to forestall further trouble on base, General Landry had set Ronon loose on Earth. Ronon really had no intention of causing trouble outside, though. He just wanted to see it.  
  
What bits of Earth he’d seen - Toronto, during the search for Jeannie Miller; Virginia, for Patrick Sheppard’s funeral; San Francisco Bay, while Atlantis was sitting on Earth - had been pleasant enough. Crowded, though. So many people.  
  
It was Lorne who’d given Ronon a cell phone and one of those little plastic cards that Earthers used in lieu of money. Plastic was less flimsy than paper but was much flimsier than coins, and Earth had seemingly hundreds of other money systems, like on computers, none of which made sense. Lorne showed Ronon how to call him or the base if things went sideways, and then he clapped Ronon on the shoulder, wished him a good time, and went back to the mountains of paperwork John had foisted on him before taking off to parts unknown, surfboard under his arm.  
  
Ronon went to a food establishment, ordered the only thing on the menu that was recognizable - chicken salad - and ate quickly. He didn’t like the crowds, the way people stared at him. He’d been tall on Sateda, and it looked like he was also outlandishly tall on Earth. After his meal - the waitress had written a phone number on a napkin and given it to him, so he’d dutifully programmed it into his phone - he went for a walk.  
  
The shops along the sidewalk were brightly lit and noisy. Ronon recognized shops for clothes, jewelry, and books, but there were all kinds of other establishments whose purpose was a complete mystery. Ronon lost interest quickly, and he kept walking, away from the light, until he came across a garden.  
  
Earthers were strange. It was a stone garden. Perhaps some kind of museum or art gallery? The stones came in all shapes and sizes, many of them rectangular with rounded edges, some of them square. They had words written on them. Ronon recognized a few words - beloved, dear, mother, father, daughter, wife, sister, brother, husband. Some of the stones were massive sculptures of winged creatures, or crying women. The stones were arranged in neat rows, and Ronon prowled through them curiously.  
  
“Why are you hanging around a cemetery?”  
  
Ronon turned.  
  
There was a girl sitting on a stone sculpture. She was pretty, with blonde hair and hazel eyes, tight jeans and a leather jacket. For some reason, leather jackets were  _cool_ , in the makes you good-looking and popular way, not in the temperature way.  
  
“It’s quiet,” he said. So the place was called a cemetery.  
  
The girl nodded. “That’s because all the people in it are dead.”  
  
Ronon blinked. He looked down at the nearest stone sculpture, studied the words on it very hard.  _Here lies Megan Swann, beloved wife and mother. June 7, 1985 - October 14, 2007._  
  
The dates she had lived, Ronon realized.  
  
Ronon eyed the girl, who was sitting on a stone belonging to  _Sierra Dickinson, dear sister and friend._  
  
“Why are you hanging around in a cemetery?” he asked.  
  
“Part of my job,” the girl said.  
  
Ronon looked about at the grass and the trees. “Are you a...gardener?”  
  
The girl laughed. “No.”  
  
“Do you make the - statues?” Ronon gestured at the stone sculptures hesitantly.  
  
The girl cocked her head at him. “They’re called headstones. Or tombstones.”  
  
“I thought  _Tombstone_  was a cowboy movie.”  
  
“Well, yes, it’s a Western. It was named after a place called Tombstone. You not a fan of Westerns?”  
  
Ronon shrugged. “I don’t get the point of staring at a box for entertainment. I’d rather get out and -  _move_.”  
  
The girl jumped to her feet. “Move, huh? You a dancer?”  
  
He snorted. “No.”  
  
“You an athlete?”  
  
“No. I’m a soldier.”  
  
“Really? For what army? Because I’d totally sign up for that army if I got to have awesome hair like that.”  
  
Ronon tried to remember what it was John called him when talking about him to other Earthers. “Civilian consultant.”  
  
“What kind of consulting do you do?”  
  
“Fighting.”  
  
“Hm.” The girl straightened up, sized him up, and he got a sinking feeling. Very few people her size looked at him like that. If they did, it was because they were fools, or because they were much more dangerous than their size let on. “You wanna spar? I could use some warming up before things really get interesting.”  
  
“What do you mean, interesting?” Ronon had learned that  _interesting_  was code for  _dangerous and/or crazy_.  
  
And then something grabbed his ankle.  
  
What happened next was a blur. A man clawed his way out of the dirt. Only he wasn’t a man, but part beast, with a face like an angry cat and inhuman fangs. And he was inhumanly strong. So was the girl. She was fast and flexible and fought hard. But Ronon had fought the Wraith before. He could handle this beast.  
  
He caught the man-beast, threw him to the ground, stomped on his throat.  
  
The man-beast gurgled but thrashed, still alive.  
  
The girl stabbed it in the chest with a sharpened piece of wood - and the man-beast vanished into dust.  
  
“What was that thing?” Ronon asked.  
  
“A vampire,” the girl said grimly.  
  
Ronon had heard the term before, usually in relation to the Wraith. “Like the kind that sucks blood?”  
  
“What other kind is there?” The girl eyed him.  
  
Ronon bit his lip but said nothing.  
  
“You were pretty good, though,” she said. “I guess the Army trains you all right. I’m Buffy.” She offered a hand.  
  
He shook it. “Ronon.”  
  
“So, want to hang out some more? While I patrol this cemetery.”  
  
“That’s your job? Patrolling a place full of dead people?”  
  
Buffy cast a significant look at the hole the vampire had crawled out of. “Some of them don’t stay dead.”  
  
Ronon was pretty sure John and the rest didn’t believe vampires were real. “Fair enough. Do I get one of those pointy sticks?”  
  
“They’re called stakes. And sure.” Buffy reached into her jacket, where she had several stakes, plus a glass vial of water and a wooden cross.  
  
“Tell me more about vampires,” Ronon said. He sat on one of the headstones next to Buffy, turning the stake over in his hands.  
  
“Sure. If you tell me more about the Army.”  
  
“Air Force, actually.”


End file.
